


Get Your Fix of Me

by kakashispornstash



Category: Naruto
Genre: Choking, Creampie, Did I ever mention how much I love Madara as a mouthy slutty power bottom, Light Angst, Love/Hate, M/M, Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 04:37:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10506447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakashispornstash/pseuds/kakashispornstash
Summary: Hashirama knew Madara was more than a habit he could not break: he was an addiction, something as necessary as the air he breathed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Madara is a total thot and I ship his sleazy ass with everyone tbh. #uchihwhore
> 
> (A short little warm-up thing - I've been going through a ton of shit and haven't been able to write in forever ugh. I'm currently working on stuff I've promised a few people and a few other side projects and I'm cleaning up my messy ass. Thanks for comments+kudos, per usual.)

" _Fuck_ _,"_  Madara ground out, eyes dropping closed in bliss, a wild grin stretching across his face. “Yeah, right there…” 

Madara was never ashamed to be raw and animalistic, utterly mad in his desire. It was the transparency of his passion that always made Hashirama lose control and rut his hips harder. The headboard rattled against the wall on each thrust; Madara reached up to grab it, muscles straining beautifully. 

How many times could they carry on like this, dancing the same dance, meeting under the cover of shadows? It had been several months since Madara had gone rogue, intent on destroying the very village he had helped Hashirama transmute into a reality. Old habits die hard — that was what his father had told him, wasn’t it? Hashirama couldn’t remember for certain, but knew Madara was more than a habit he could not break: he was an addiction, something as necessary as the air he breathed. 

Hashirama swore under his breath, sweat dripping down his brow. Madara wrapped his legs tight around Hashirama’s hips, enclosed him with a vice-like tightness that made Hashirama grit his teeth. He was sure the noise they were making was loud enough to carry over to the servants’ quarters, but he was so immersed in the way Madara grunted and panted and howled that it was futile to try and stop now. 

The headboard splintered in Madara's grip as he frantically pulled at his cock, jerked off in time to Hashirama’s thrusts. Madara was painfully hard and needed to come, he was going to go crazy for it, but when had Hashirama ever gone easy on him? His ass ached and yet the pain was offset by shockwaves of pleasure radiating through his groin and down his legs every time Hashirama hit that bundle of nerves deep inside him. It was Hashirama’s hidden ruthlessness that made him a fitting lover for one as sadistic as the head of the Uchiha. 

( _A match made in hell_.) 

“Ungh…” Madra moaned and there was a strange femininity to it, a hint of an upward inflection that compelled Hashirama to throw one of Madara’s legs over his shoulders and smash their mouths together. Madara pressed his tongue against Hashirama’s and clung hard to his back, raked those pretty too-sharp nails across his skin until he drew razor thin lines of blood. 

Hashirama broke their kiss with a hoarse cry, eyes shut in pain — but no, he wouldn’t give in, he didn’t let up his pace. Madara’s smirk wavered at last when Hashirama reached between them and tugged at his cock in short, tight strokes.

Madara hissed and arched his back, writhed wildly until Hashirama had no other choice than to put a hand around his throat and squeeze, squeeze, _squeeze_ until Madara’s eyes were rolling back and he stilled and clutched at the sheets and came with a muffled, ragged cry. The feeling of Madara pulsing around him sent Hashirama falling over the edge. He rocked forward and emptied his load into Madara’s ass, the world flickering into blissful darkness. 

They breathed heavily out of sync, reluctant to come down from their high. The room stank of sweat and sex. Hashirama slowly pulled out and Madara opened his mouth in response, breath hitching, but made not a sound. 

Hashirama gazed between their bodies and shivered as we watched his come pool out of Madara’s ass and trickle onto the bedsheets, hoping to burn the image in his memory. When he looked up, he caught Madara staring at him. Madara's eyes were glazed over, far away, unrecognizable from the usual heated gaze that burned through everyone and everything in his path.

“What are you thinking about?” Hashirama probed, leaning forward to press kisses to Madara’s temples, his jaw, his neck. Madara’s skin was damp and salty, and Hashirama’s heart sank when he realized this might be the last time he ever got to have a taste of his lover. ( _His enemy._ ) Madara stiffened as Hashirama embraced him, and Hashirama knew his time was up. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Madara scoffed. His voice was hoarse, his windpipe bruised. Hashirama traced the faint bruises already forming across Madara’s neck. 

“I’ll have someone heal you before morning,” Hashirama said. _Before you leave me once again and return to the darkness,_ he thought, shoulders heavy.  

“Enough,” Madara said. He shook his head and let out a humorless laugh. "You always were rather naive, Hashirama."

And although Hashirama should have expected it, should have known by now that Madara was entirely different when ensconced in the throes of passion, the dismissal still stung. Madara lifted himself up, wincing at the tugging pain that radiated from his ass to his tailbone. He wouldn’t be able to walk normally for at least a day.  

“I’m sorry.” They both knew Hashirama’s apology was a loaded one, that it went beyond rough fucking. 

Madara put on his pants and grabbed his robe off the foot of the bed, donned it slowly and smoothed out the creases, readjusted the high collar. He was biding his time, Hashirama knew that, no matter how heartless he tried to seem. 

“As am I,” Madara muttered softly, and he walked out and did not look back. 


End file.
